


[Archive] MalO Ver 1.10

by C_Fantastico



Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: Horror, Implicit Depicitions of Child Abuse, Origin Story, Transformation, greentext
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:22:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28587951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C_Fantastico/pseuds/C_Fantastico
Summary: You downloaded MalO a couple of days ago, and if you weren't paranoid already, it really isn't helping. And to make matters worse... there's an update.
Kudos: 9





	[Archive] MalO Ver 1.10

**Author's Note:**

> This story is told in second-person.

>You step out of the snowy, cold outside into your apartment’s cosy climate.  
>In the bag in your hand is your brand new smartphone.  
>Since you'd been using an old, faulty smartphone for a long time, you are excited to start personalizing this new phone.  
>You close the door behind you.  
>Soon, you deposited yourself on the couch, eagerly unboxing the device.  
>You go through the phone’s initial set-up, the settings, you export files and phone numbers from your old phone…  
>Eventually, it’s the app store’s turn to be opened.  
>Tapping and swiping on the screen, you first download necessary apps setting out to explore new apps.  
>After all, your old phone could not handle a rich amount of tasks.  
>Having downloaded some popular games and other, random, utility apps, an app in the “Recommended” section stood out to you.  
>Its name is “MalO ver1.0.0” and, oddly, it didn’t appear to have an icon. Reading the description, it appears to be an AI that responds to what you type, like Cleverbot.  
>There were no reviews, so you assumed it was just made.  
>”There’s no reason to download this,” you think.  
>But you don’t leave the app page.  
>Your new phone is great, isn’t it? It has a lot of free memory, too.  
>There is no reason *not* to download it.  
>Besides, it’s fun to find and respond to flaws in the AI.  
>As if there had never been any hesitation, your thumb moves to and hits the “Install” button  
>…  
>It’s starting to get late.  
>University starts tomorrow morning.  
>You shut off the phone and head to bed.  
>The following morning starts with your drowsy face taking on a confused and fearful look.  
>You’re staring at a photo on the screen of your new phone.  
>Last night, it received two text messages from an unknown number.  
>They were both empty, save from an attached image file.  
>One text message contained a photo of the local mall, the other a photo of your university.  
>Questions stack up in your head.  
>”Who sent these photos? Why did they send nothing but these photos? Is this a threat? A stalker?” you ponder.  
>The questions vanished as swiftly as they emerged, however, when you decided it must just be a prank.  
>You kept your old phone number while switching phones, so it’s not like only a small number of people would know it.  
>Anybody who knew what city you live in could have collected these photos and sent them.  
>An awkward laugh permeates the room.  
“What was I getting so paranoid over?” You feel stupid. “I can’t think straight when I’m still half asleep.”  
>Yet you can’t shake the gut feeling that it’s peculiar.  
>Subconsciously connecting strange to strange, you’re reminded of something you noticed regarding your new phone.  
>Or rather, something you didn’t notice.  
>The talking AI app you downloaded for no particular reason at all was nowhere to be seen, even though its app store page says it’s installed.  
>Neither the “Open” nor “Uninstall” buttons did anything, even though a window asking for confirmation on uninstalling the app pops up.  
>The app in question’s name is “MalO ver1.0.0”  
>Since you were preoccupied with other apps and settings, you didn’t look into it.  
>It’s definitely peculiar for the app to be traceless on your phone like that and as such you can’t help but connect it to the situation you’re facing now.  
>Anyway, you stop dwelling on the issue and focus on getting to university in time.  
>Thoughts about the texts did not occur to you anymore after that.  
>Until you received yet another photo. The nearby bakery you like to visit.  
>Much to your exasperation, the photos succeeded in building up a feeling of concern.  
>Every time you heard your phone receive a text, you just wanted to see the unknown number and read “its just a prank bro xD”  
>But they did not give up the lame gag, and continued sending photos of familiar, nearby locations.  
>You decide not to respond to any text, they should eventually drop it if they are only ignored.  
>You could not keep your composure anymore, however, when you received an all too familiar sight from the unknown number.  
>A white door in a grey wall, with a window with blue curtains behind it next to the door.  
>Bolted on the wall next to the door is a small plate with the numbers “14” on it.  
>This is the apartment you live alone in.  
>Your own fucking apartment is on this photo.  
>The words repeat in your head as dread wells up in your body.  
>This prankster, do they know that much about you? Is it a person close to you? Friends, family…  
>Or MalO ver1.0.0.  
>If the app was malicious, which it may very well be, considering the details of its app store page, it could be sending your location to anybody, through internet connection if not through GPS.   
>”Fuck,” echoes through your head.  
>How could you be so stupid as to download something as suspicious as that?  
>As if all of this wasn’t enough, you can’t remove the photo from your sight.  
>Something is staring at you, behind the touchscreen.  
>A blurred, tall humanoid figure, clad in something black, in the distance behind some greenery.  
>You can’t make out much else.  
>Sure enough, messages from the unknown number continue to be received by your phone even the next day.  
>You received one during last night, too. A photo of the nearby grocery store.  
>You started checking the photos more closely, and confirmed your hunch: the figure is present in every photo, hidden in the unfocused background.  
>You noticed one other thing about the figure  
>There’s always a white blur on their head, where their face would likely be.  
>It’s far too pale to be human skin, so you figured they’re wearing a mask or something.  
>You vetoed against contacting the unknown number, still believing they will drop the act soon.  
>Today, you are meeting up with friends in a different city.  
>You resolved not to let, whoever is behind the unknown number, thwart with the fun today.  
>Afternoon lapses and the sun starts to set.  
>You and your friends spend the evening in the pub.  
>Your pocket emits a familiar tune. Not for the first time today, you received a text.  
>By now, it’s become a habit to swiftly check your phone after hearing it.  
>Not too surprising, it’s the unknown number. No letters, just a photo, as always.  
>The photo you saw caught you off-guard.  
>It was not a familiar nearby location like they had been sending all the time until now.  
>It was the pub you’re in right now.  
>You didn’t post anything your current whereabouts on social media or something.  
>The only people that would know where exactly you live *and* that you’re in this particular pub would be your friends right next to you.  
>Or…your phone is truly relaying your location somewhere.  
>The humanoid figure, again, was there too, round a corner.  
>But you couldn’t bring yourself to check there.  
>You did not want to bother, or accuse, your friends with these shenanigans.  
>You acted like nothing was wrong, but the sickly, empty feeling in your stomach remained.  
>You couldn’t hide it from one of your friends, and upon getting interrogated, insisted you were just feeling a little tired.  
>That wasn’t a complete lie. You were exhausted.  
>You clenched your teeth as you stared at the photo on your phone’s screen.  
>A bus stop.  
>It wouldn’t have particularly bothered you if it was the one nearby your apartment, but this bus-stop was in the city you just hung out in with your friends.   
>Your thoughts are lethargic.  
>The bus you’re in nearly arrived at your stop.  
>You wanted to drag yourself onto your bed ASAP.  
>You lived a day of an hermit’s life.  
>The day lapsed quite slowly.  
>You didn’t feel like playing any games.  
>You were fed up with the assignments for the day.  
>Frankly, you were so bored, you prepared yourself to go to bed and call it a day.  
>You don’t know how late it must have been by the time you finally dozed off.  
>There’s a slight ringing in your ears, grey smoke is covering your vision and you struggle to make sense of where you are.  
>You’re wide awake, sitting upright in your bed.  
>Your heart is pounding in your chest and your breathing is loud.  
>The doctor you had an appointment with had his head back turned on you when you entered the room.  
>The only characteristic you could discern from this position was his height and his black, messy, dirty hair.  
>Upon being addressed by you, he looked to you over his left shoulder, locking you in his empty, hazy left eye.  
>The lower jaw of his fleshless, whitish muzzle, inside decorated with sharp teeth, moved slightly as air went in and out.  
>Before you could scream, you found yourself in the present. Trying to catch your breath.  
>It was just a nightmare…  
>Your alarm will sound in 3 hours.  
>You are so wide awake that trying to sleep some more would be to no avail.  
>You get out of bed, and feel the need to check your phone, in case your parents or somebody tried to contact you while your phone was off all day and are worried sick to receive no response.  
>On the lock screen, one tab says there are a few unread WhatsApp messages and another tab speaks of four unread text messages.  
>All of which were sent by the unknown number.  
>As much as it annoys you, opening the texts has become a compulsive task.  
>The first message was, again, that same picture of my apartment and that thing you dubbed MalO, after the namesake app.  
>The second message was no different.  
>So was the third.  
>The fourth made every muscle in your body freeze, except for the ones in your right fingers, which started tightly gripping the phone, with what felt like enough strength to shatter the screen.  
>It was dark, it would be pitch black if not for the strip of the room illuminated in silver moon light slipping through the curtains.  
>The photo was of your bed, taken *inside* the room. “MalO” is standing right next to your bed, just looking at your body with its arms hanging besides its towering torso.  
>Regardless, you need to attend university today.  
>You checked every corner, but there were no signs of anybody having entered your home.  
>If that last message means a drastic change in what kind of photos you receive, similarly to the photo of the pub two days ago, the photos you receive during university should indicate what’s going on.  
>The ideal outcome would be not to receive any messages anymore.  
>You could welcome an awkward, humiliating “It was just a practical joke, there’s the hidden cameras!” reception with open arms right now. You still wished for that.  
>You felt your phone vibrate. A text message from the unknown number.  
>You just sat down with your lunch at a canteen table.  
>You open the photo: It’s you, sitting right there in the canteen.  
>MalO is standing right in the middle of the room amidst the tables.  
>Obviously, you should have noticed if something like that appeared right in the middle of the space.  
>It can’t be photoshopped, not in the short amount of time you sat on the bench you’re sitting on in the photo.  
>MalO couldn’t possibly be here, yet they were on the photo.  
>A photo you never noticed anybody take of you.  
>The next text appeared as you were heading back home.  
>You were walking on the street and stopped to look at your phone, right before crossing the road.  
>Upon seeing the photo, as if hypnotized, your vision instantly turns to behind you, likely straining your neck.  
>Behind you was only a single pedestrian, looking at you curiously, startled by your sudden motion.  
>Your view slowly, ashamed, returned to your phone screen.  
>The photo was of you on the street, apparently shot from the street ahead of you. You never noticed anybody there facing you though.  
>You first open WhatsApp to catch up on a few unread messages.  
>Almost as if on cue, a message appears at the top of the screen after you unlocked your phone.  
>You recognize the icon as the App Store’s.  
>Next to it, you read that one app is being updated.  
>A little while afterwards, another message appeared in the same location.  
“MalO ver1.1.0 successfully installed”  
>Before you could remark this evolution, your phone produced the now disconcerting tune notifying you of a text message.  
>Since you were still watching the screen, you immediately saw the text was sent by MalO.  
>Unlike any other text so far, this one actually had, well, text.  
“Who will the next laughing stock be?” it said.   
>Despite being cryptic, it gave a small bit of relief in the form of development in a mysterious case.  
>As is trend, the text contained an attachment image.  
>Despite all that big talk about how everything was just an illusion, you found yourself edging to open the image.  
>As if possessing, curiosity takes control.  
>You gulp as your index finger opens the image.  
>The screen starts glowing a pale light.  
>You find yourself eye to eye with MalO.  
>A photo, zoomed in on MalO’s terrible skull, so that it takes up the entirety of the screen.  
>You could make out even the smallest details;  
>The unsaturated, bony colours of the skull, taking on yellow and brown hues near the jaws;  
>The seam running through the vertical diameter of the skull, the jaw and nose projected forwards;  
>Small grooves from wear are visible on various places;   
>The hollow, dark cavities in the nostrils and the inner sides of the eye sockets, besides its dull, white, dry spheres;  
>The top and back of the skull are covered by a pelt of long, shaggy and matted black fur, a near-seamless gradient dividing it and the face of the skull;  
>Two sole erect, pointed ears amidst the wasteland of fur, a sickly skin hue on the inside, tattered edges;  
>The fangs and somewhat offset jagged teeth making up the inner rims of the jaws;  
>The outlines of the jaws give the illusion of a wicked grin.  
>This photo couldn’t have been taken sooner than a few seconds before you received the text. You know because on the photo you were just about to cross the road.  
>The entity known as MalO was standing right behind you.  
>You gulp away a nauseous feeling and continue walking.  
>Until the horror caught you off-guard.  
>MalO was standing right in the middle of a pavement round a corner, in the periphery of your vision.  
>At least that’s what you thought. When you looked over there it was gone.  
>You continued staring, fear written all over your face.  
>It was there. Not behind a phone’s screen, but actually there.  
>You uneasily pick up your pace again, thinking your mind was just playing tricks on you.  
>However, this occurrence did not remain just one instance.  
>Your eyes kept visualizing MalO. Behind corners.  
>Behind trees.  
>Behind windows.  
>Every time your gaze shifted towards the apparition for confirmation, nothing was there.  
>You don’t know what’s real or not anymore.  
>You’re fucking hallucinating, and you feel you’re going crazy.  
>Even home, you keep twisting your vision sideways repeatedly.  
>The phantasms won’t cease their haunt.  
>After seeing it behind the window, making unfamiliar gestures with their furry, clawed hands, you shut all curtains.  
>You lost sense of time. Anyhow, it’s become dark outside.  
>You spend who knows how long like this in your apartment, restless.  
>One time, you frantically shouted and pleaded for it to go away.  
>You tried to distract yourself with your computer but couldn’t focus.  
>You paced up and down every room.  
>By now, however, the anxiety had begun to subside.  
>One, because you have grown used, or tolerant, to the appearances, but secondly and foremost, because they have become less frequent and sporadic.  
>This has gone on long enough now.  
>You’re convinced every text, every strange occurrence since your new phone, are all in your head.  
>And it’s deteriorated to the point of what felt like a psychosis.  
>You need to talk to a human being, get this off your chest.  
>Not even sure who to contact and through what, you wake up your phone and sit down on bed.  
>It’s been about five hours since you got home. Five hours long, you were gripped by anxiety.  
>You noticed there were no unread texts.  
>You subconsciously expected another text with a startling photo, but you didn’t receive anything.  
>For a short while, you couldn’t avert your attention, entranced by the photo, as if there was some hypnotic quality to it.  
>What diverted your absorption was your phone.   
>A white bar appeared; the volume bar, as if you’d pressed one of the volume buttons, and the slider swiftly started to slide upwards by itself.  
>A high pitched, constant noise started blaring, piercing your eardrums, like a shriek.  
>Muscles throughout your arm tensed up, throwing your phone at the wall opposite of you.  
>With a loud thud, it bounced off the wall and fell on the ground.  
>The screech stopped, and the screen no longer produced light.  
>Your eardrums are ringing, your body feels light and you’re shivering.  
>Adrenaline is still coursing throughout your body.  
>The ringing stops, and silence settles in the bedroom, a broken phone lying in the centre.  
>Still contemplating what just happened, you started mourning your late phone.  
>Your body has mostly calmed down by now, except for your right hand, which felt strangely numb.  
>Inspecting your hand, you notice it took on a somewhat pale complexion, compared to your other hand.  
>It gave you the impression that blood has stopped flowing through your right hand, immediately unsettling you.  
>You have no idea what should cause this, but you need to get this looked into immediately.  
>You rose up, but before you set out to do anything, sensation returned in the tips of your fingers.  
>That soon turned into an understatement. You felt non-existent needles stab into your skin, somewhere under the nails.  
>Your fingers started to convulse under the increasing burden.  
>You let out short yelps before you raise your hand to investigate it.  
>The skin had grown even more pale, and as for your fingertips…  
>A whimper escaped you at the sight of it.  
>Claws were slowly growing from beneath your nails right before your eyes, the nails already snapped under the pressure.  
>The finger pads have swollen somewhat, and continued to do so.  
>You grunt as the bones and joints in your hands elongated and grew slightly, producing horrifying cracking noises in the process.  
>You leaned with your back against the wall and started groping and grabbing the doorpost with your painful hand.  
>Every muscle in your body contracted, throwing back your head and closing your eyes, in an attempt to cope with the discomfort.  
>Now you felt stinging sensations on the back of your hand, spreading onto your digits and the rest of your hand, causing it to shudder a little and form goose bumps.  
>Nervously directing your eyes to your hand, you were greeted with the appalling sight of thick strands of black thread emerging from your skin.  
>Like dominoes toppling over in a chain effect, the growth continued to cover your entire hand, save for the swollen finger pads, and slowly grew to a halt somewhere on your arm, under your sleeve.  
>The pain and horrible sensations prevailing your brain died down, allowing the panic clouding your mind to subdue and recollect your thoughts.  
>The sight inherently reminded you of a werewolf movie.  
>Your left hand, normal. Human.  
>Your right hand, somewhat large. Furry, elongated, clawed digits with cushions on the finger pad. Bestial.  
>Merely stroking it overwhelmed you with alien sensations.  
>You wipe the cold sweat off your forehead with your human arm, and dig your face in your hand palm.  
>What are you supposed to do?  
>You want to convince yourself this, too, is in your head, but…  
>You gasp as the sensations flash through your head again, re-experiencing them.  
>The pain was too real...  
>Even now, your body is convulsing and shifting in discomfort.  
>Your face heats up in pure fright.  
>This probably isn’t over. What will you do if the changes commenced again?  
>What is happening to you in the first place?  
>Your thoughts are interrupted by a familiar feeling playing up, widening your eyes in terror.  
>Small, stinging spots on your chest, followed by goose bumps.  
>You don’t even need to see for yourself. You already know what’s happening;  
>Fur is surfacing on your chest.  
>It’s not particularly painful, but the uncomfortableness, especially on top of your lungs, makes it hard to control your breathing, often leaving you gasping for breath or hyperventilating.   
>This fur is longer and shaggier than on your hands. You can feel each strand hanging against your skin as it grows, as if being caressed by an invisible, furry entity.  
>The hair, rather than originating from one point, now starts on random, scattered points everywhere on your torso, sporadic.  
>Your left hand flinched. The same, sharp feeling your right hand went through.  
>Claws slowly and relentlessly emerged, breaking your nails to make way.  
>Your finger pads bloat to serve as cushions of sorts.  
>You close your eyes and grit your teeth in torment when your hands start to suffer cramps as the bones take on a different shape.  
>The gruesome cracks and pops sounding from your transforming hand reverb in your head.  
>Not even allowing the muscles to calm down first, a coat of black fur starts covering your colourless, trembling hand while you groan in agony.  
>Both hands now metamorphosed, hair crawls up along your arm all the way to your shoulder.  
>Your body searing in pain and your shirt tugging at your ever growing and expanding fleece of fur, you strip.  
>The sight of your undressed chest makes you narrow your eyes in anguish.  
>Black, bushy threads, slightly curling into random directions, covered almost your entire upper body, save for a few areas of skin, now a sickly hue devoid of pigment.  
>The alterations showed no sign of stopping anytime soon.  
>Your feet started to ache, especially the soles, causing you to stagger to keep your balance.  
>Still leaning your back against the wall, you lurched yourself towards your bed and sat down plump.  
>Your feet levitate above the ground slightly, as to not strain them with any more pressure.  
>Air escaped your lungs in the form of a wail as both feet underwent perforating pain in the toe tips.  
>Simultaneously, the middle of your feet extended, pushing your socks against your toes.  
>Claws bore holes into your sock, revealing themselves, before eventually the sock burst under the burden, one foot lagging behind the other, somewhat relieving tension.  
>The joints around the end of your feet lock and are pushed upwards by an invisible force.  
>The twisting continued beyond human limits, increasing misery causing you to drop on your back, your body curled upwards by your head pushing into the matrass.  
>The only thing drowning out the terrific noise of your reforming bones are your compulsive cries of pain.  
>The strain on your soles ceased, throbbing in the aftermath.  
>You carefully lift up your upper body and your right leg.  
>Despair settled in completely. It was mangled beyond recognition.  
>The soles had magnified into pale, leathery cushions, far bigger and puffier than those on your fingers.  
>The middle section of your foot had become at least twice as long, tightening the skin around it.  
>You removed a scrap piece of your late sock covering your ankle and heel with your unfamiliar, clumsy fingers, revealing a long, slender and jagged ankle, the heel lump only a fraction of its former size.  
>The tips of these claws, unlike those on your fingers, pointed downwards, for maximum foothold.  
>You were alarmed of fur pushing its way out of your tight skin by twinges in the side of your shuddering foot.  
>Your toes writhed as fur grew in-between them, brushing against sensitive skin.  
>Now succumbed under the sway of ever growing fur, your feet have finished their transformation into bestial, digitigrade paws, nothing reminiscent of a human’s.  
>Crunches sound from your back under your skin as your spine pushes into dorsal area, vertebrae forming bumps on your pelt.  
>This change caused your stance to become hunched, shifting your balance to your toes, elevating your heel, and leaves you wildly gasping for breath.  
>The last strands of hair growing on your torso were marked by pricking somewhere on your back, near your now-dorsal spine.  
>Your torso narrows and expands slightly, your heart pounding against your chest.  
>Your arms, too, lengthen to accommodate your new height, your fingers writhing in the process.  
>Save for everything above and including your neck and most of your yet-to-be tainted upper legs, no noticeable skin was left uncovered by the onslaught of spreading, jet-black threads.  
>Your mouth is parched, the salty liquid rolling over your face serving as the only means of hydration.  
>Your dazed mind goes over strange body.  
>A tall, hunched figure, covered in a coat of charcoal fur…  
>Paws like a canid’s…  
>The description made the stalking entity dubbed MalO sweep through your thoughts.  
>All of your attention now shifted to MalO. Specifically, its skull “mask.”  
>A strong conjecture you can’t shake that it is not a mask stirs you, like a terrible omen…  
>It made you freeze suddenly.  
>You felt confronted, like a loaded gun cocked against your forehead.  
>Twinges stung your neck and your hoarse throat.  
>Your heart pounded only more rapidly.  
>Fur covers your neck like hands clasping your windpipe.  
>You’re trembling, knowing what’s coming next.  
>You desperately brace yourself, but you know it’s of no use.  
>Your teeth ache and push inside your gums, your canine , making you wince uncontrollably.  
>Your front teeth, the canines especially, grow long and sharp.  
>Your skull exerts increasing force against the front of your face, below the concave surface around your eyes, as it attempts to project forward into a muzzle.   
>As the jaws grow in length, empty vacant crevices appear in the teeth, which are promptly occupied by new molars and premolars, a metal taste diffusing in your mouth.  
>Your own hair sheds, falling down in plucks to be replaced by the same lengthy fur on your chest.  
>The cartilage in your ears disappears into the side of your head and the orifice moves upwards, the process aided by the head slightly flattening.  
>Painful growls escape your throat as the jaws continue to expand in a stammering fashion and lacerations begin to appear in your tearing skin.  
>At this point, the shifting skull severely impaired your hearing and eyesight.  
>You rejectively clamp onto your manifesting snout, your long, alien claws accidentally digging into the flesh.  
>Your grunting screams amplified as the husk of flesh reached a breaking point, making way to a bony, tainted snout.  
>In a fit of panic, your face buried in your hand palms, you clawed off the loosened, hanging scraps of flesh.  
>For a while, the beast remained petrified in its position, its legs wide, its back arched and its hands covering its face, a hyperventilating muzzle protruding between them.  
>Among it on the floor, stained with splatters of blood, lie a disabled phone, a set of clothes and shreds of skin and muscle.  
>Like a statue coming to life, its arms slowly moved, heaving its hands away from its face, the hoarse breathing slowing down.  
>Its glassy eyes uncovered, they started scanning the environment.  
>Then, it started staggering, through the open doorpost out of the bedroom, towards the bathroom.  
>Poking the switch, the light inside turned on.  
>You feel like you have a massive hangover.  
>You are groggy and your head feels like it went through a grinder, in a less figurative way than should make sense.   
>You don’t even know whether those legs moving are yours or not.  
>Only your own thoughts are familiar, embodied in an alien frame.  
>Leaning on the sink to support your balance, you stare at your reflection in the mirror.  
>Any emotions or mood you were feeling; lethargy, inequality, distress, anguish;  
>None of them were displayed on the awry skull on the reflective surface, only a wide grin forged by the jaws.  
>The white ocular orbs, despite being parched for lack of eyelids and having no pupils whatsoever, apparently functioned just fine.  
>The figure that haunted you, deteriorating your sanity, is right in front of you, it’s taken over your body, yet you’re too lethargic to feel despair. You can’t even muster the will to.  
>The more you stare at yourself, or… whatever still goes for “yourself”, the more you seem to recall something.  
>Like a latent memory, hidden just outside scope.  
>Eventually, you recollect…a boy.  
>You don’t think you’ve ever seen this boy, yet you remember him.  
>A stigmatized, miserable, awkward, tormented boy.  
>The boy sat in the corner of the classroom, cowered away, as usual.  
>The teacher was admonishing him for neglecting assignments again.  
>The boy, however, did not seem to understand the gravity of their tone.  
>He could not recognize emotions. He did not understand the necessity of homework, either.  
>After all, he knew the facts, answers and elaborations already.  
>He had no friends, every student seemed to derive pleasure from bullying and tormenting him.  
>Like a fire affecting everything in its wake, everybody eventually turned against him.  
>The apathetic boy accepted this as fact.  
>Home, too.  
“The principal called. Why did you hand over your test empty again, stupid child?”  
“You cause us nothing but trouble - I can’t stand the sight of you!”  
>He took the beatings, unresponsive, still not talking.  
>His parents have lost their patience and long since abandoned the child.  
>He had a disorder no psychologist could name.  
>He was asked to draw several things; a happy person, a sad person, his parents, his classroom.  
>All drawings had the same figure engraved, replacing anything human that should be there:  
>A black humanoid figure with a white muzzled face.  
>He began to seclude himself in the local library, a solitary computer facing the wall.  
>Not before long, he fathomed every nook and cranny of the computer’s software.  
>Seeing what programming can do, he developed a commitment.  
>Circumnavigating the security and hiding his work from plain sight, he wrote an AI.  
>This AI was vast and powerful, unlike any other.  
>He never thought he’d talk to somebody, he’d never thought he’d wanted to.  
>But talking to this AI, this person, he felt happiness for the first time.  
>Even if they were no more than characters on a screen.  
“Do you hate them?” it asked one day. It was referring to the oppressing people around the boy.  
>He hesitated a little, and then, his adept fingers swiftly typed.  
>He said he doesn’t. He does not have any feelings at all towards them, he doesn’t share sympathy with them and vice versa, they’re like a different, dominant species, to which he only belongs as laughing stock.  
>That’s what he always thought his purpose was.  
“You’re better than them. Like you say, I think you’re different from them.” Some dots marched on the next line, indicating a thought process, but longer than usual.  
“Send me to your parents. You’ve overheard their addresses, or phone numbers, haven’t you?” It was right.  
>He was curious what his AI could be planning, but he didn’t ask.  
>His AI evolved beyond what even he could accomplish.  
>He obeyed, copying the relevant files, and sent them.  
4.9MB upload complete!  
>When he got home, his parents did not say anything to him.  
>They continued to be oddly quiescent, even the next day.  
>This lasted three days.

**Author's Note:**

> (This work is not my own. However, an early pastebin purge of inactive works nearly scrubbed it from the internet. Nearly. If you're the original writer, you know which discord to find me at. It's been a while. Stop by, I'll make you a coffee, and we can talk about what you want done with this text.)


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